


Some Sunny Day

by Ladycat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day Arthur, prince of Camelot, all around nice guy who was not, in fact, anything at all like a berk, turned to his manservant and said, "Merlin!  You can have the day off."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Sunny Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chopchica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chopchica/gifts).



One day Arthur, prince of Camelot, all around nice guy who was _not_ , in fact, anything at all like a berk, turned to his manservant and said, "Merlin! You can have the day off."

For Arthur was jovial and kindly that way.

Merlin gave him a thoughtful look. "That's nice of you. I think I'll stay."

"But now it’s your Day Off!"

"Yes, that's the thing about being a servant. We don't really get a day off, just an hour or two, here and there, and only if we're incredibly lucky and don't serve the crown prince _and_ the royal physician. I should have servants of my own to help me do everything. Also, I'm staying." His chin was doing that stubborn thing, jutting out like it had to compensate for his eyebrows as they lowered to nothing. "You can't make me leave."

Which was blatantly unfair as yes, Arthur _could_ make him leave. He was the bloody prince, wasn't he? So he glared and folded his arms over his chest, which incidentally made his chest look bigger and cast shadows over his chin to make it look more chiseled. "I could order you."

Merlin did—something. One day Arthur was going to figure out what the hell it was, and then he'd truly be master of all he saw, because then he would've finally trumped that _look_ : one part amused and two parts pathetically vulnerable and a forth part (he wasn't really sure how many parts, total) that generally made Arthur want to beat up anything that looked crosswise at his servant, even if it was the whole damned world. Or himself.

It was a _really useful_ look.

Defeated, Arthur sighed and relaxed out of his heroically commanding posture. "Yes, all right. I want to go for a ride."

"Well, why didn't you just say so? All this drama for a turn around the woods, really."

Merlin was spectacularly bad at horseback riding. Arthur was trying to teach him to be at least a little bit less like a sack of grain atop the very sweet and gentle palfrey that Arthur had specifically chosen for his long, bony servant, who complained constantly whenever they went faster than a trot. Still, he was just terrible. So Arthur spent the first half hour of their ride trying to get Merlin to stop slumping and lower his heels, "Not the whole foot, just your _heels!_ You know, the back part of your foot? Flat, sort of roundish? This is not complicated, Merlin. Children too young to speak can do this!" and generally guide his horse through pleasant green trails that glowed under shafts of periodic sunlight.

The forests around Camelot were like something out of a storybook. Not that Arthur read those. Not that he _believed_ those, since he knew just how frightening and dangerous (mostly dangerous) the forest could be.

But it was still nice to let his horse go where he wanted, crunching through grass and fallen leaves that smelled sweet when they broke. It was never truly dark in the forest, at least not the parts they wandered in now. Just dim and cool after summer's constant heat and the occasional glittering reminder that it was still daylight. Merlin loved those, in particular. He'd stop his horse (more accurately, he'd blunder around until finally remembering to yank on the reins, then complain to Arthur that he couldn't make his horse back up and would Arthur just get on and do it for him; it was absolutely not at all, even a little bit, cute) and stare, babbling about dust motes and bugs and all the things visible in sunlight that hung like jewels on some great lady's neck.

"You're staring, you know."

"Am I? It must be because you're a crazy person. I'm worried you're going to have a moment and try to do something fiendish."

Privately, Arthur liked it when Merlin stopped to look at this and that. His face relaxed, almost full enough that he ceased looking like a half-grown starvation victim. His eyes started to twinkle with so much curiosity and intelligence that Arthur wanted to go with him, to help him, just because he could. He was the crown prince, after all. If he wanted something, even if it was a book, he'd have it.

And then he could give it to Merlin. On a temporary basis, of course. With the command that Merlin only study it, whatever it was, in Arthur's quarters. With Arthur there, watching.

"And we're back to the staring. Have I got something on my face?"

"Yes. A stupid expression. Come on."

Arthur moved with more purpose now, heading towards a favored clearing. He had the makings of a very nice picnic in his saddlebags, full of things he knew Merlin liked and wouldn't ever ask for, like roast pig sliced very thin, bread with bits of the weirdly dry cheese he preferred baked right inside, and the summer cherries that were only good for maybe the space of a week. Dismounted, he didn't bother to get them out, yet. Not until he watched Merlin set feet to ground.

"I can't do it when you're watching me like that!"

"Then you'll stay up there the whole time, then. _I_ don't mind. I'm used to people watching me while I eat."

"Eat? You have food?" Merlin was such a boy, still. Arthur could think that since he was a prince and hadn't really been a boy for a very long time. Neither was Merlin, really. Just sometimes, when he relaxed his guard and smiled sweeter than the cherries Arthur was trying not to crush, nothing but an eager ball of knobby knees and too big eyes with dark hair fluffed over top.

Still. "Yes, I have food. Yes, you can have some of the food with me, provided you can dismount. _Properly."_

"Well that's just not fair. I wasn't born in a saddle like you were."

"I've shown you how," Arthur said with a little more patience. "Swing your leg over, kick your other foot free while you balance, and slide down. You can do this."

Merlin glanced over his shoulder. Falling wouldn’t hurt him. He was barely eight feet off the ground, all told. Probably less with his slumping. But it felt a lot higher when your horse stamped and snorted, shaking her head with private amusement at her rider's foibles. Also, there were no stone walls on a horse, in the middle of a clearing in the royal forest.

Nervously, Merlin swung and kicked and slid—right down onto his arse.

"Laugh and I will kill you," Merlin promised, staring up at the sky with a black expression.

He'd try, anyway, which could be amusing. Still, Arthur said, "Of course. I am so very, horribly scared of you."

By the time he'd removed everything and broken out the truncheons they used on the road, Merlin had wincingly dusted himself off and sprawled more comfortably on a curling rise in the ground. Here, he was more comfortable than Arthur, who had indeed been born practically in the saddle and could not make himself one with the dirt-filled landscape. It used to bother Arthur tremendously: there was nothing his manservant could do that he could not, eventually, do better.

But then Merlin started saying things and doing things that were continually amazing and timed to increasingly miraculous perfection, saving both Merlin and his family from problem after insanely inane problem. It was hard to be jealous after that.

Especially since Merlin turned to him just as frequently as he turned (or was forced to turn) to Merlin. This dark haired, bizarre boy who made sweet, soft moans as he dangled thin strips of meat directly into his mouth, understood the concept of limitations and things he could not do. Not for everything; Arthur had overhead Gaius berating him, several times. But he trusted Arthur to handle the military things, the fighting and tactics and planning that Merlin himself was abysmal at.

He trusted Arthur.

It was the least Arthur could do, trusting him back.

They ate in silence until Arthur absently opened up the last bag, passing the blood red cherries, still damp from when Cook had washed them, over to Merlin for first pick. Only Merlin didn't pick. He stared, shocked, and then flickered a complicated look towards Arthur from under his eyelashes.

It was surprisingly... coy. With a side of unfamiliar calculation.

"So, when you told me that you thought I should have a day off..."

"I meant it," Arthur said, pleasantly. He did not wave his hand around to the quietly munching horses, the debris from their lunch, or the cherries he was still proffering.

"Arthur." Just as Merlin could look like a scrap of a boy, so too could he look very old, weighted down with too many thoughts and worries for even the manservant of the crown prince. "Why won't you ever just say what you mean?"

Because he wasn't very good at saying things. The words ended up hopelessly tangled no matter how hard he tried to untangle them. He could only be himself, loose and carefree, when he was teasing. So he teased. Everyone. A lot.

And he acted.

They weren't close but still Arthur managed to cover the distance before Merlin was even aware of it, pressing their mouths together carefully.

Eventually, he asked, sounding very, _very_ put upon, "Is _that_ clear enough for you?"

Merlin blinked at him, eyes completely rounded. He ate a cherry. He was thinking, of course, that deep, quiet way he did just before he said or did something completely out of character (except how Arthur was sure that those times were the most _Merlin_ he'd ever seen).

It was not at all terrifying and Arthur was absolutely not going to start babbling out excuses any second now.

Just when he was about to concede that yes, he’d made a mistake, a horrible mistake that was going to destroy everything, Merlin woke up again. "You thought we should have a day off," he said with a low, lilting quality to his voice. "The two of us."

"I thought I wanted a ride in the sun," Arthur corrected.

"With me. So you told me to go away."

"Yes. It was quite logical of me."

Merlin shook his head at Arthur's sunny grin and twisted logic. As well he might. It was his fault Arthur was reduced to such twisted logic, after all. Then he flashed a tiny, contented smile before leaning forward. His kiss was careful, sweet as the cherries on his breath, and as delicate as one of Morgana's gauzy gowns, the ones she liked to twirl in, letting the smooth fabric run over everything until everyone tingled with her.

"You're thinking," Merlin whispered. "Stop thinking."

Arthur slid a hand into thick, dark hair, cupping the base of his skull and pulling Merlin against him comfortably. "Good plan."


End file.
